Attempt For A Happy Ending
by elizalovegood
Summary: Even Snape can find something better than death. But is there a way for him to live (reasonably) happy ever after?
1. Out of the Shrieking Shack

**Attempt For A Happy Ending**

~Rescuing Snape~

_This is the hardest story that I've ever told  
No hope, or love, or glory  
Happy endings gone forever more_

_Mika - Happy Ending_

When the rain started to pour down Severus Snape cast an Impervius charm over the thick foliage above him. Knowing it would be a while for the rain to stop he pulled the thin summer cloak around his waist and sat down.

He had gotten used to the daily rainstorm that started with a punctuality that suited him very well.

He watched the falling rain for a while, then opened the dragon hide bag he was carrying with him at all times and took out one of his last bananas – he would have to collect a few new ones – and then – after thinking about it for a moment – the black book he had taken to writing in on loose intervals.

Some would have called it a diary – which it was not. For Severus did not use it to keep track of events on fixed dates, but more in a pensive sort of way. He poured his thoughts inside – he just didn't care to ponder on them afterwards.

He opened it. It showed only blank pages. Still a bookmark indicated the one he had last written on.

Even though it was not a diary, he usually started with writing the date.

_May, 2 - 1999_

A whole year had passed since he had died. Almost died. Obviously. Or maybe: not quite survived – for something had died that day, indeed.

Snape had thought about the events of that day and night now and then. But he had never tried to put them down into words. To write it off in his – for lack of a better word – diary.

He sighed. It was time for it now – if he intended to follow his own set of rules of facing and writing down what came to his mind without delay.

He didn't like it and he dreaded it the way one would dread opening a pus-filled abscess. Knowing, it was still necessary to get rid of it.

Snape took his quill and thought for a moment. Then he began to write and didn't stop to think. Another one of his own set of rules.

_I remember the day well. I felt calm in the morning – knowing, what was to come later on. But there was no way of changing anything anymore. Everything had fallen into place like Dumbledore had planned it._

_I remember waiting in the Shrieking Shack, discussing the elder wand with __the dar__ Voldemort._

_I didn't see it coming. He caught me by surprise and disarmed me. It still makes me angry. Even though I know I could not have prevented it – for raising my own wand against him in protection would have been unthinkable._

_I can still feel my wand flying from my hands. _

_I can still recall this feeling of being unprotected. Uncovered – almost naked._

_And I still know the terror of realizing, what he was doing – while it happened. For when I realized what was going on, the snake already shot towards me._

_Had Dumbledore planned this as well? I don't know. I still hope not. Not that I would have minded dying very much. But not that way._

_Not wandless like a muggle, bitten by Voldemorts cursed snake. _

_I remember feeling the blood pour from my injuries and the burning pain as Naginis poison spread throughout my body._

_I remember being worried. I still had to pass crucial information on to Potter. I was relieved, when he came. _

_A novelty._

_I remember looking into his eyes – her eyes – while everything around me went dark and quiet. Apart from my own bloo,d that was pounding in my ears. I remember wondering dimly how it could still rush so fast, when I was losing so much of it so quickly._

_Maybe I was wrong. Looking back I suppose I wasn't losing as much blood quite as quickly as I felt I was._

_Then the pain went away and the pounding subsided. I was floating. Just slightly. And not physically – I remember, being aware of my body lying on the ground. Still I felt like I was floating. I was not fully unconscious. _

_It seems, there was a sort of space between life and death. _

_It was all there – and yet it wasn't._

_I waited for my whole life to pass before my eyes – but that didn't happen._

_Instead it seemed to me, that everything fell apart. Like a finished puzzle, turned upside down._

_I could look at all the tiny pieces. Some of them seemed suddenly insignificant. Others, I regarded with contempt or regret. Precious little ones I gathered, to hold them dear._

_But they seemed to slip though my hands and I couldn't reach them, couldn't touch them again._

_Then I saw Lily. I don't know if she was really there. I don't know how that could be possible. But maybe she was. It doesn't matter. If she wasn't, whoever spoke to me, was speaking her mind. I knew her well – I can judge that._

_She stepped up to me – without actually taking steps. She just was suddenly a lot closer. She hugged me silently and I held her tight. As tight as I possibly could. _

_I thought I should cry – but I couldn't. I didn't really want to, either. So I held her for what seemed eternally, until she took my face in her hands and carefully pushed bits of hair behind my ears._

_She told me I had to let go. I knew she was right – but I didn't want to. I wanted to hold her until I knew nothing more. Yet within me a feeling began to grow, that that was not possible._

_She told me I had done all that was possible. I had protected her son and avenged her death. _

_She forgave me._

_I couldn't believe it._

_So she said it again. And again. Over and over – until her words reached my heart._

"_You have to let go, Sev", she said again but I still didn't want to._

"_There is one more thing you need to do, Sev."_

_I groaned. I didn't want to do anything ever again. Especially I was sick of doing things I had to do. I have done things because I __had __to do them for so long. I wanted to be left alone. Well – not quite alone. I wouldn't have minded if Lily had stayed. Still I knew somehow that she wouldn't._

_She looked at me with that strict look I knew so well. I grinned – like I always had when she had looked at me that way because it was so unlike her to be strict and stern. That was me._

"_Severus Snape" she said, using my full name. It sounded weird. "You are such a talented guy. And so smart. You know that. I know you do. Stop grinning like that!"_

_I tried, but I couldn't stop. I felt stupid – but couldn't help it._

"_Now look what you've made of your life. You should have been the next Dumbledore!"_

_That was an odd thought. She never had voiced anything like it. It hadn't crossed my mind either. _

"_Now what have you achieved? Thought up dark curses – is that what you are proud of? Is that, what you want to be remembered for? You are so much better than that, Severus. I always knew that. And I told you so. So many times. I believed in you. And I was right, wasn't I? You turned around and joined the right side. You were just a bit late. It was the last chance you took, and so you had to spend your life making amends._

_And you did. You succeeded. You're done with it, now. Are you listening, Severus? Do you hear me? You are done with it!"_

_I looked at her. "Done with it?"_

"_Yes, done with it."_

"_Then there should be nothing left to do, wouldn't you say?"_

_She shook her head violently and her red hair flew all around. It made my heart jump with joy._

"_No, Severus. What is left to do is what you really should have been doing."_

"_Excuse me?"_

"_Live, Severus. Live the life you were meant to live right from the start."_

_I sighed. I didn't really want to live. She knew I didn't._

"_Let die, what is dead," she said and curled a bit of my hair around her index. She smiled at me – how could I resist that smile?_

"_You have to let go, Severus."_

"_I don't want to let go of you, Lily. I love you!"_

_There. I said it. Finally. I saw her eyes starting to glitter with tears. I didn't want her to cry._

"_I know that. It saved you until now and what you have to do from now on is to let it carry you further."_

"_What do you mean by that?"_

"_I want you to live, Severus. I want you to be awesome and to show them, what you can do. I want you to come up with at least a dozen new potions. I want you to be adorable."_

"_Lily – somehow you were always the only one who was convinced I was. I can't change people's opinion of me."_

"_Of course you can. Just prove them wrong. And prove me right, Severus. Do it for me. Don't make me look foolish because I've always believed in you."_

"_But you didn't. You gave up on me. You refused to talk to me. You turned to Potter."_

"_I didn't give up on you. Not really. I just felt that there was nothing else I could say. I hoped you would figure it out for yourself – but you didn't. Until it was too late."_

"_Too late?"_

"_Too late for us."_

_It should have hurt – but it didn't. In that weird place where nothing really mattered and everything seemed to be filled with tranquility, where things were distant and close at the same time… it didn't hurt. Maybe it didn't because I had secretly known about it all the time and just never admitted it to myself._

"_Now leave me here, Severus. Leave me here with all the pain. Let go. Let it die. Start anew. Go for it – and make me proud, this time around."_

"_A second life?"_

"_No, not really. Kiss me goodbye, Sev."_

"_I don't want to say goodbye."_

"_Kiss me goodbye, Sev."_

_I couldn't resist kissing her and so I did. Warmth flooded through me until it filled my whole body. I felt her vanish. Slowly. I knew, what I had to do – even if I didn't want to._

_I opened my arms and let her go._

_She smiled at me, while fading away. "I knew you could do it, Sev. You can do anything. Anything you want. Don't you forget that. Ever!"_

"_I love you, Lily."_

"_I know. I loved you too, Sev. Let it go."_

"_I can't."_

"_Remember me as someone, you once loved dearly. You cannot change, what was. But you can change what will be. Let got of me, Severus. Let me go."_

_I realized that she had stopped fading away. I knew it was me, holding her with me. As long as I held on to the love I felt._

"_Letting go won't mean you never truly loved me, Severus. It will only mean that you have moved on. If you let go – I will be your strength. If you hold on, it will cause you pain. Like it has done for decades. You know I'm right."_

"_Seems you're always right."_

"_Always, Severus?" She smiled._

_I smiled back and suddenly it seemed easy. "Always." And I let go of that feeling. I let her go, let her pass away into whatever it was. I knew, she wasn't really gone. She is still a part of me._

_A part of my past._

Severus Snape stopped writing and put his quill aside. He stared into the rain, unseeing. It was pouring down with the same intensity as before. It would keep doing so for a while longer.

Severus looked at the half finished banana on his bag but had lost all appetite.

Thinking of his near death experience left him somewhat battered - emotionally. Not hurt. No. But he had never faced his emotions like this. It was new for him and he was very glad he was sitting in the midst of a tropical rainforest all on his own. Nobody was going to walk in on him and he wouldn't meet anyone anytime soon – Not unless he chose to do so.

He picked up his quill and continued writing, this time much slower.

_I felt the pain return. The pounding in my ears was back. The floor was cold and hard again. I knew the potion had finally kicked in. I had taken it as a precaution. To make sure I could pass on what Potter needed to know. I hadn't expected to need it. I never expected __the d__Voldermort __to kill me like that. I thought I would have been worthy of a proper death curse._

_I came around while the potion was slowly doing its purpose._

_I needed my wand. I tried to sit up as best as I could. I looked around for it, but couldn't see it. "WAND!" I said – hoping, it would come to me. My voice sounding like a creak. But nothing happened. "Accio WAND!", I tried again and this time something did jump at me. It was not my own wand, though – it was his old one. Voldemorts old wand, he had discarded, when he believed, the elderwand was finally his._

_I breathed deep and mustered all the strength that I had left. I pointed it at one of the deep, bleeding gashes and mumbled the incantation. It worked. Three times I managed to close my own wound – although the third time it didn't close entirely. I decided to leave it as it was and to get out of the Shrieking Shack and somewhere safe. I kne, I needed to rest, for the potion was not yet finished with its work._

_I didn't think I could crawl back all the way through the tunnel and I didn't want to end up on Hogwarts grounds either._

_So I pointed his wand at the front door of the Shrieking Shack and lifted the Charms that had locked it for decades. I opened the door and stepped into the night. The sky was filled with curses. I could hear the shouting and screaming of the battle._

_I closed the door behind me and then I just walked away. Walked into Hogsmeade, slowly. Expecting to meet villagers – but there was no one there. They were all either hiding or joining the battle._

_I walked through empty streets toward the 'Three Broomsticks'._

_The door was not locked. I walked on and threw floopowder into the fireplace. Next moment I was in Spinner's End._

_I still felt distant to everything. A calm tranquility rested deep within me. I did, what I knew I had to do. Getting as much water next to my bed as I could, before I collapsed._

_I don't remember how many days I lay there, while the fever was raging inside of me. A side effect of the powerful antidote._

_When I came around, there were large blisters, filled with Naginis poison, on the spots where the wounds had been._

_I had to get it out of those blisters without burning my skin. It was difficult – and thoroughly unpleasant. Needless to say it was painful, too. I had to take special care of the one where my spell had not healed the wound completely. But after a few days I was done. I was weak, but alive._

_And not only my body was – my soul was, too. I felt different. Not enthusiastic. Mostly I felt calm. Although it may have been, that I was simply drowsy from exhaustion. _

_At one point I realized whose wand I was using. I found it repulsive, so I broke it several times and buried it in the backyard. I used my mother's old wand instead – which suited me surprisingly well._

_After a few days I became restless. I felt I had to do something. I didn't want to sit around. I wanted some sort of purpose. But what?_

_I didn't want to contact anyone. I figured they were thinking I was dead. It was a welcome thought. Then I suddenly knew, what I was going to do. It didn't come to me as a single thought or a general idea – but as a fully-fledged plan. I was going to travel. _

_I enlarged the inside of my favourite bag and packed lightly. I left through the backdoor. I locked it routinely with all the spells and curses I have always used. Then I got my broomstick out of the tiny shed. It was a dark night. I accelerated fast anyway. I flew slightly above the clouds, enjoying the moonlight. I headed south as a general direction, without a specific aim. I flew into the rising sun, smiling. There was not a single care in the world. For the first time in my life – as long as I remember – there was not a single care in my life, none at all._

_I landed when I was tired and couldn't hold the broomstick steady anymore. I was in France. I could see Mountains in the setting sun and booked a room in a small auberge. The sign looked remarkably like a cauldron and the warden turned out to be a small wizard with whiskers. He spoke no English, of course. But it didn't matter._

_Next day I kept flying above the clouds. I didn't lose track of direction – I never bothered to keep one and spend the night in a German pup, located in an equivalent of Diagon Ally, where I purchased this writing book amongst other useful things. And a new wand. Maple, this time. With a feather of a 'Nightkrab' as a core. Apparently a large raven, which can appear and disappear and steals children who are out alone at night. Lovely. _

_I had had plans for the black writing book. A vague idea, what I would use it for, derived from my experiences with the antidote to Naginis venom._

_The poison had to leave my body. I had to get through the process of cutting open the blisters and releasing it in order to return my body to full health and strength._

_Lilys words had given me a certain idea: what if my soul, too, needed such a process? She had told me to let go of it all. But even though it seemed all very distant to me, still, and even though I could have put it away like it didn't really matter – like I always have found a way to get rid of things I didn't want to pay attention to – I felt that that would have been the wrong way._

_Yet I'm not the sort of person to confide my private and most intimate concerns to anyone._

_I wasn't comfortable with the book, either._

_Until I devised a way to make the ink sink in and be invisible to anyone. Only to return by my command._

_Still I carried it with me and didn't write into it until October the 31st. It was the day, when I realized I had to set myself rules for this writing endeavor – or I would never write anything into that book ever._

Severus Snape sighed deeply and put ink and quill away. He closed the book and looked onto its blank, black leather cover for a moment. Then he stowed it into his bag as well.

He could tell from the height of the rising damp that it had stopped raining quite a while ago.

He finished his banana and put the bag back over his shoulder.

He smiled. He felt good. Really good. As clean as the soaking wet forest around him. Nothing really mattered – he was doing, what he wanted to do. And only what he wanted to do. It felt awesome.


	2. On the road to forgiveness

Author's note:

Thank you Amar and guests for your kind reviews. This is not supposed to be a one shot. I expect about three chapters (at least – depending on how fast things move along). I think Severus needs to face his feelings about Lily, why he couldn't let go and move on. He needs to forgive himself. He won't like that. And then he needs to deal with his Potter/Black memories and he'll need to forgive them, too. He'll like that even less.

Personally I would like to see him happily married with enough children to found his own Quidditch team – but I don't think he's quite the type for that.

I'm not sure how far this character can be pushed and still be recognizable.

I fell in love with Snape early in book two ("or maybe he's waiting to hear why you two didn't arrive on the school train") and I don't want to force him into something he is not.

I do want him to find love. Although I fear that that will have to happen while he's looking the other way. And I would like to conclude with Mr. and Mrs. Snape taking at least one child to platform 9 ¾.

That's the plan.

I'll just have to make Severus come along. Ugh.

Technically I would have been satisfied with Professor Snape teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts permanently. The Order of Merlin (1st grade) wouldn't have hurt anyone. Or having a street in Hogsmeade getting named after him – as a last resort a statue on Hogwarts Grounds would have sufficed. But we didn't get any of that, did we? It's been seven years and thinking of Snapes death scene still makes me angry. Obviously I'm not past the four stages of mourning and I refuse to accept it. Severus Snape is not dead. He can't be.

Hence this fanfiction. Wish me luck.

_Memories consume - Like opening the wound  
I'm picking me apart again  
You all assume, I'm safe here in my room  
Unless I try to start again_

Clutching my cure I tightly lock the door  
I try to catch my breath again  
I hurt much more Than anytime before  
I had no options left again  


_I don't want to be the one The battles always choose  
'Cause inside I realize That I'm the one confused_

_I don't know what's worth fighting for Or why I have to scream.  
I don't know why I instigate And say what I don't mean.  
I don't know how I got this way I'll never be alright  
So I'm breaking the habit, I'm breaking the habit  
Tonight_

I'll paint it on the walls  
'Cause I'm the one at faults  
I'll never fight again  
And this is how it ends

_Linkin Park__ –Breaking A Habit_

Severus Snape filled the last drop of potion into the flask and put it into the box, where eleven similar flasks were already held in place.

He closed the box carefully and put it into the larger box, which carried more potions as well as little bags with dried herbs and fungi.

He pulled his cloak around his shoulders and cast a lifting charm on the box. Then he directed it carefully out of his tiny room and down the stairs.

He was currently staying at a small inn in New Zealand. After exploring the tropical rainforest in South America and collecting interesting plants and magical animals, he had never heard of before, he had travelled on to Australia.

Here he had studied the most complex spell work of the Aborigines. They had a unique way of putting their spells into effect and it had taken him nearly two years to understand the magical theory behind the simpler ones. At that point the heat had unnerved him so much, he had decided to leave it at that and move on.

New Zealand had seemed as good as any other place. He had found a small wizard dwelling and rented aforementioned tiny room in an inn.

For the next few months he had sifted through all the notes he had taken and all the probes of herbs and other flora and fauna and had tried to classify it. Once he had started he had realized how big a task he had set himself.

While he had been travelling he had never considered what he would be doing with all the data. Now he found it was enough to write several books on.

He had quickly come up with a reasonable schedule for the task and started writing. He knew it would take him years. He had decided to start with his most recent discoveries on Aboriginal Magical Theory. He was nearly done. He would not spend much time on finding a publisher, but go on working on a compendium of magical animals and plants of the tropical forest. He expected to finish that rather quickly, as it was much less complicated a topic to put into writing. His third idea he had saved for last, because he knew it would take up a lot of time, as he was not finished with experimenting on new potions and the diverse uses of the plants and herbs he had discovered. Yet he knew it was going to be the part of his work he would be enjoying most.

The room he had rented was stacked with parchments full of notes, crates filled with samples and everything he needed for his work. It didn't cost much – but to be able to pay the rent he had started to gather herbs and concoct potions for the local apothecary.

He approached the shop. A warm breeze ruffled his robes and even upset his hair a bit. He had almost gotten used to that. The shop sign was dangling slightly "Praxedis Hollerbug – apothecary" it said and Snape smiled slightly without realizing it, as the magical door chime went, and he entered.

Later that afternoon he sat at his crammed desk and looked down on the parchment he had been writing on.

For some reason he hadn't made much progress ever since he had returned from the apothecary. Instead of focusing on the final conclusions on aboriginal spell work he found his thoughts returning to an equally warm and rainy day in May two years ago. He sighed and looked outside the window. Some of the trees had started to turn their leaves yellow and red. Even after two years he had not gotten used to considering May a month of the autumn season.

With an almost grim expression he opened the lowest drawer of his desk and took out the black writing book he had come to dread and appreciate alike.

He opened it on the bookmarked page and started writing.

_May, 28 – 2003_

_It was about this time of year when I came to the village two years ago and I remember clearly it was the end of May, when I went into the apothecary for the first time._

_I needed both money and potion supplies – an ill combination. _

_I had concocted a few potions and collected an assortment of useful herbs I intended to offer the shop owner._

_A small bell jingled when I opened the door – I was the only customer. There was no one behind the counter, but a voice from behind a purple curtain called out to wait just a moment._

_So I did. Then Madame Hollerbug stepped through the curtain and up to the counter. She was a short, slightly stout woman with greying hair. I guessed her to be about my own age. She was wearing dark green robes with a purple belt and matching necklace. The most extraordinary thing about her – more accurately the __only__ extraordinary thing about her - was the blindfold, she was wearing over her eyes. Or her empty eye sockets, more likely. Even though she was obviously blind she held her face in my general direction, smiled and asked me, what she could do for me. _

"_Good afternoon", I said and put down the small crate on the counter. I was about to explain, when she said: "Ah – it is you, Mr. Evans. Our new celebrity! I was wondering, when you'd come in. Sooner or later, everyone does… As it is the only apothecary around." _

_I'm afraid I kept staring into her unseeing face for quite a while, before I asked her, how she knew._

"_That is quite simple, actually – I recognize a British accent, when I hear one. West Midlands or North East, I'd say."_

"_North East it is, indeed."_

"_I was almost sure it was, I used to have a friend from Lancashire. So – are you buying or selling?" _

_She gestured roughly into the direction where I had put down my crate._

"_What did you mean by me being your new celebrity?" I asked instead of answering her question._

"_Oh – the whole village is buzzing with the tales of your travels. Some say, you can do Aboriginal spell work? Is that true?"_

"_A few simple ones, nothing more, I'm afraid."_

"_Well, that's more than most people can say of themselves, isn't it? So, a foreigner in our tiny settlement, a talented wizard - obviously – and a scholar. I'm surprised your ears haven't been burning… If you hear some people talk, it sounds almost like you're the next Dumbledore!"_

_I stared at her, this time really lost for words. A rare occasion._

"_Mr. Evans?"_

"_I see." I managed. "And I thought I was just somebody who enjoyed travelling and taking notes."_

"_Don't pay attention to it. They'll calm down in time."_

_I took her word for it and started to explain how my rather lengthy shopping list was well outside my financial capacities and told her, what I had to offer._

"_May I have a look at those potions?"_

_I wondered briefly how she was going to check for the correct colouring and density, but was not surprised, she managed by wafting the odor toward her nose carefully._

_She checked on the herbs in equal fashion and equal silence which almost made me feel like a student in front of a teacher. After seventeen years on the other side of the desk that was a really peculiar sensation._

"_Well," she concluded, "those are perfectly correct concocted solutions and very carefully collected and dried herbs. I don't really need anyone to brew my potions, nor to collect my herbs," – (I wondered briefly how she managed that) - "but as I see you are in a tight spot, I'll do you a favour. What house were you in, by the way?"_

_I was a bit taken aback by her sudden change of subject, but answered still._

"_Slytherin. I was in Slytherin."_

"_Ah – I was in Hufflepuff. When did you leave? Maybe we have met."_

"_I left 1978."_

"_Ah well – that was my third year. I suppose you never paid much attention to Hufflepuff third years, did you?" She grinned a little sheepishly, when I said "not really."_

_I read her my list and we came to a quick agreement, we have both been happy to keep up over the past two years._

_She told me later on that she lost both eyes, when her husband's cauldron exploded. Apparently they were experimenting and she survived only because she had just been about to leave the cellar and turned back at the door when her husband started yelling at her to get out._

_The explosion had wrecked the house and made her a very young widow._

Snape put down the quill and tapped the pages with his wand, hiding the entry behind blank parchment.

He had started to call himself Perseus Evans – an anagram to his true name – when he had left the tropical forest and lived among people again.

He had not thought about it in advance, but decided for it spontaneously, when he had been asked.

Something had held him back from using his name. And the more he thought about it, the more contented he was with this new one. He was – after all – leading this new life because Lily had asked him to. So he carried her surname in her honor.

Hardly a day passed without a thought of Lily. He felt as if she was watching him from across the room, when he bent over his parchment, trying to find the right words. It was her voice that pointed out mistakes and misspellings. He concluded his work usually with the feeling of having made Lily proud.

It really felt as if she was still there.

But not like the image of his guilt and ignorance. Nor the source of bitter regret and pain, no – not anymore.

She was his strength, now.

Still, there was no one like her. He knew for sure he would never meet another woman like Lily. How could anyone compare? Lily had not only been beautiful. That alone wouldn't have caught his interest at all – or at least: not for long. She had also been an extraordinarily talented witch, had had a sharp mind and most of all: a kind and friendly nature, which had always soothed his yearning soul.

Severus thought back to the happy years of friendship he had shared with Lily.

They had shared their knowledge of magic and practiced together. She had been his equal. A soul mate. Almost. Had it not been for his passion for the Dark Arts.

He closed the writing book and bent down to put it away, then hesitated.

Despite the fact that it was the end of May, the colouring trees and cooler temperatures had sparked a feeling Severus associated with autumn. It had been easier than ever to ignore Halloween the previous year, with plants bursting into bloom and newborn lambs on the meadows.

Now it came back to him.

He reopened the book and looked onto the first page. It was as blank as it should be. Yet Severus knew, what was written there.

He took up his wand reluctantly and considered. He had never reread anything he had poured into that book. Maybe this was time for it now? He had nothing new to write. He tapped the page with his wand and murmured the incantation.

It sprang to life. Like growing plants his handwriting reappeared until it was all back in front of him.

_October, 31 – 1998_

_It has been seventeen years now._

_Seventeen years since Lily's death. Six Months since my feelings about it have changed – even so little._

_I am certain that she has forgiven me – or would have done so anyway. But I find that it is of little consequence._

_I still miss her as painfully as ever._

_She was the only one, who ever really understood. The only one, I could confide in – the only one, I could trust._

_I know that I am the one who betrayed our friendship in the first place._

_Like I am the one who is responsible for her death._

_She may have forgiven me, she always had a forgiving heart. But I myself cannot. My own stupidity and ignorance took away the only thing I ever held dear. Lily paid the price – how dare I be happy?_

_As she has forgiven me and expects me to do my best at being happy - or at least content – and to make something of my life from now on, I realize, I have to forgive myself, too. But how can I?_

_Is what I did enough? It may be enough for her, but is it for me? Do I really deserve happiness? Already? Ever?_

_How can I put such grave mistakes behind and move on?_

_I have to do it. Lily would want me to. But how?_

_I cannot see a way to redemption. Cannot find an explanation or excuse for my deeds. I was selfish and stubborn. There is no way around that._

_I am guilty. What I did cannot be undone. I know that this is where forgiveness is the only way out. But how am I to walk it, when I cannot see it? Cannot find a direction to start? I remain caught up in my own accusations, acting as my own prosecutor. How can I stop myself?_

_And what's much more: do I really want to stop myself?_

_For seventeen years I have made my home in my own punishments. It is, what I deserve._

_I do not deserve to live on when she is dead. Especially not happily. _

_I know she would disagree. _

_It still does nothing to change my point of view._

Severus put down the book on the desk and looked out of the window. It was getting dark. Was there really nothing to add to this entry? Had nothing changed over the past five years?

He felt it had.

He still felt guilty and he still felt the responsibility for her death weigh heavy on his shoulders.

But he knew he had made a few steps into an uncertain direction. Not so much toward anything like forgiveness – but still away from his own merciless judgment.

Maybe he should try and speak up in his own defence? Or maybe he could cast Lily as his advocate?

He raised his wand and tipped the page blank. He turned the pages to where he had put his bookmark and bent over the desk, dipping his quill into the inkpot and starting to write the final speech of defence in the case of Snape versus Snape.

He waited a moment, until he heard Lilys voice in his head clearly.

_May, 28 – 2003_

_There is hardly any doubt, that the accused is guilty of all charges. But before final judgment is passed, it is necessary to take a look at the evidence that speaks in his favour._

_We will therefore consider every decision the accused has made and take into account the circumstances which let him to choose the path he did._

_We must also take into account that the accused tried to make amends even before the pending act of violence happened._

_He turned his back on his former allegiance and entrusted vital information to the man he had formerly considered to be his enemy, because he knew, he was the only one who could prevent the murder, that was already planned._

_It can be taken as a fact, that the accused would never have relayed any information which was likely to endanger his childhood friend deliberately._

_Therefore the accused must be cleared from this particular charge. He did not relay information deliberately and he never would have done so, had he foreseen following events and decisions._

_He did relay the crucial information because he was a Death Eater and was serving the dark lord. Obviously it was a bad decision to join Voldemorts services and we must consider what let the accused to do so – instead of taking his friends advice to disassociate himself from the group of people who were pursing the same ends as he did._

_Why did the accused – at age sixteen - chose a group of friends from his own house above the trusted friend from his childhood days?_

_The answer is rather simple. The accused could not decide otherwise, because he was not in the condition to deal with his former-friends bullying – as it most certainly had ensued had he told them he was not their associate anymore because of his friendship with a person they despised for her heritage – in addition to the one he was already suffering on the hands of his Gryffindor classmates._

_To break away from his group of friends would have isolated him in his own house, leaving him completely friendless – except for one. Who was – at that point – not as close anymore as a few years before._

_Was there a reason to choose that lonely path at that point?_

_Yes, there was. It was possible to understand the flaws in his associate's views. The reason to listen to his friend's warnings would have been to choose the right way above the easy one. _

_The accused did not do that._

_It is my belief that he could not make that decision, due to his personal background._

_It takes a mature and stable personality to make such a morally correct, yet difficult decision._

_At age sixteen the accused was neither mature, nor stable enough to understand what sort of decision he was about to make._

_It would have been the duty of his caretakers to provide him with guidance and orientation – not his peer._

_Did his parents do or say anything to direct him back onto the right track?_

_Did his teachers assist him in this troubled time?_

_The answer is: no._

_The accused must therefore be cleared of this charge, too. He could not decide against his group of friends at this point. Not without assistance from a loving – or at least dutiful – adult caretaker. The accused cannot be held responsible for his caretakers misconduct._

Severus sat back and almost threw the quill onto the desk. Had he really just cleared himself of all charges? Lily's voice was ringing inside his head. It was clear to him that she would have taken this stance. And not without reason, as he had to admit.

He got up and started to pace the room. Writing had not calmed him down, this time – but made him angry.

Angry with his parents, who had been so caught up in their fighting, that they had hardly ever found the time to consider him much.

Angry most of all with his father, who had never been able to accept his son the way he was. Who had despised his magical abilities, had felt betrayed by a small child who could not see why being magical had put him firmly on his mother's side. Why had there to be sides at all? Why did he have to grow up in a warzone?

He was angry with his mother who had chosen to endure his father's raging, instead of making a living with her son alone. Having been a witch, that clearly would have been possible. What did she had to lose?

He was angry with Dumbledore, who had allowed him to be separated from his only friend, the only positive influence in his life at that point – and then failed to provide him with a new one. Who had never done anything to stop Potter and Black.

He stopped dead in his tracks as he realized, that he had actually stopped blaming himself.

Yes. He had made bad decisions. Many of them. But those had been lonely decisions. Made without advice or guidance. Lily alone had truly cared about him at that point – and her advice alone had had no chance against all the unfortunate circumstances he had grown up with.

He didn't feel cleared of all charges. But he was not the lone culprit anymore. It was relieving to direct his anger toward someone else than himself for a change.

His gaze fell on to the black writing book, which was still lying open on his desk, the page crammed with his minute handwriting.

A slight smile twitched in the corner of his mouth, as he bent over it and wrote, while standing, a last line under today's entry.

_Let off with probation_

He tapped the page blank and bent even lower, locking the book firmly back in its bottom drawer.

It was dark outside by now, but Severus felt full of energy. He decided to go for a walk – his steps considerably lighter than ever before.

Let off with probation. He had a second chance and he was going to do it right this time.


	3. Dressed for success

Author's Note: Thank you again everyone for your kind and encouraging reviews. Please don't get too used to such frequent updates. I don't have to go to work at the moment, so I've got loads of time. I should be cleaning the house – but hey: one's got to get priorities right. Right? ;) I would like to explain a few thoughts on my perception of Snape's character, addressing some of the thoughts in the reviews.

(Sincere apologies in advance: this got way too lengthy. You're welcome to scroll down for the real content).

HalloRain: # teacher!Snape versus private!Snape – although I totally agree about a teacher in front of a class not being identical to his private self, I don't think it's quite that easy with Snape. He's not just a (very) strict and (very) demanding teacher – he's also bullying students and taking favourites. It's not just something that happens to Harry – he's picking on Neville and Hermione and it seems very much on everyone who gives him any reason. Or even if not.

Snape is a very bitter man and he's holding grudges by the dozen. If he was privately a nice and likeable person, he wouldn't behave like that in front of a class. He is apparently respectful and polite with those, he considers his equals – hence his colleagues value him. He "made himself unpopular" in HP1 when he insisted on refereeing the match – so he obviously is usually not unpopular with the staff.

But he's taking his moods and anger issues out on his students. That's no sign of a mature or 'whole' (in terms of healthy) personality.

The fact that at age 38 he is still holding on to his unrequited teenage boy crush is saying something about his state of mind, too. Any reasonable person would give up and move on and find someone else. Even Voldemort expected him to do that. Dumbledore was surprised he was still clinging on to Lily two decades later.

It's not healthy. Snape is in essence a very troubled, very hurt person, who is attacking to defend himself. He cannot let anyone come close because that would require him to open up and show is weak spots. Lily was the only person he could ever do that with and with her gone from his life, he has kind of sealed himself. That's why he's such a capable occlumens.

So – if he is to find true love, he needs to address these issues. There's loads of healing that needs to be done to enable him to trust again.

But given that he has perfected this way of life as a means of self-defence I'm not sure if he can bring himself to do it. It's a big step for someone like Snape. A very big step.

totalreadr: # forgivness – we seem to have a different understanding of the term. As I see forgiveness, it is nothing you need to earn (by an apology). Forgiveness is grace. You cannot force anyone to forgive you – no matter how often and how sincere you apologize. (That's what Snape experienced with Lily).

Likewise I don't see forgiveness as something you do for the person who wronged you. It's something you do for yourself.

To forgive does not mean that you're suddenly o.k. with what the other person did. Nor does it justify a certain behavior. It doesn't mean, that you will forget about it and pretend it never happened and it doesn't mean that you'll be friends.

To forgive someone who hurt you means only, that you separate yourself from the deed. That you refuse to let it have power over you, or influence your thinking and feeling.

The opposite of forgiving is holding grudges. Something Snape is an expert in. Holding grudges is like allowing someone to live rent-free in your head (facebook wisdom. ;)).

Holding grudges does something with you. It means ceding power to the person who hurt you.

What Snape needs to do is to grow out of that schoolboy grudge. He needs to take a few steps up and arrive at an attitude of "That was wrong and mean, but by now it is so insignificant it doesn't bother me anymore".

And the only way to get there is to forgive. He's still seeing Potter and Black as his enemies. He's still on the schoolboy level. He needs to grow up and come out with an attitude like "whoa, those two really had issues. I'll never know why they had to pick on me so badly. They really gave me a hard time, suppose they were really poor things – well, they're dead now and I'm not. Seems, they got, what they deserved. It's irrelevant for my adult life anyway."

So, in a way you are right: it will turn Snape into something he is not (yet). He won't be the tragical hero anymore. He won't be the bitter and cruel cynic anymore, who needs to bully where he doesn't need to fear retaliation.

It will turn him into a more mature person, and a man who knows some inner peace.

In short: If you've got a splinter or thorn in your hand you don't just ignore it. Or put a bandage over it and don't use the hand anymore. You also don't keep it and prod it to feel the pain again. You have to get it out or things get much worse for your hand. As a worst case scenario you might die of blood poisoning.

The reasonable thing to do is to get it out so your wound can heal. The splinter remains a splinter – it doesn't turn into a cherry blossom. It also remains a fact that it hurt you – pain doesn't turn into joy just because it's gone. And it'll be some time until your wound is healed. Maybe you'll even keep a scar. You don't have to start liking splinters and you don't have to appreciate what it did to you.

You just have to get rid of it.

For your own sake. The splinter doesn't care whether it keeps stuck in your hand or not. If it's a really evil splinter it would probably enjoy it and work itself even deeper into your flesh. ;) Think I made my point.

marietta: # Snape the next Merlin – my, you are thinking big, aren't you? I don't know if I see him back at Hogwarts. Maybe he should try something new: Perseus Evans for Minister of Magic, maybe? I have a feeling he might get his own Chocolate Frog Card. ;)

:(o)-(o): :(o)-(o):

:: (o) ::

_Who doesn't long for someone to hold  
Who knows how to love you without being told  
Somebody tell me why I'm on my own  
If there's a soulmate for everyone_

_Natasha Bedingfield – Soulmate_

:: (o) ::

Perseus Evans was pacing the room behind the auditorium. It was not the first lecture he was holding on the Magical Theory of Aboriginal spell work – nor would it be the last.

It had been incredibly easy to find a publisher for his book. He had celebrated to be a published author soon with Praxedis that evening.

Then he had returned to his work on his compendium of magical animals and plants of the tropical forest, which had been progressing fast. He had expected his life to continue as it had: quietly, most of all.

It hadn't lasted long. Soon after his book had been available in bookshops owls and all sorts of wizarding carrier birds had started to arrive at his small window and kept him from writing.

Notable wizards and witches from all over the world were bombarding him with questions on his work, he had been forced to have a break with his writing project and address at least the most sincere and well thought out questions. He had given an interview to the New Zealand Prophet. Then another one to an Australian reporter. He had been asked to hold a lecture at the "Australian Academy for Magic" on Goose Island and had done so – with great success.

Gringotts had informed him, that his vault was bursting with gold and suggested to relocate his assets into a larger one.

He wasn't exactly wealthy – but he was beyond brewing potions in exchange for ingredients, for sure. He had stayed in his tiny room, mostly, because he had gotten used to it and because he didn't want to devote time to reorganizing his notes and samples. Until more and more requests had reached him and he had accepted that now was the time to explain his work to everyone who wanted to hear it.

He ignored the fact, that there was another reason, which had done a great deal for him to leave New Zealand and turn his back on the wizarding village, that had welcomed him so friendly and at that point had been buzzing again with news of their "new celebrity".

It had unnerved him. More than once he had vaguely wondered, if he had wronged Potter in thinking he had been wallowing in it. Then had dismissed the thought.

Yesterday he had left Prague, today he was holding a lecture at the Blocksberg University, Germany. The closer he had travelled towards Europe, the more concerned he had been with being recognized. He had grown a beard and started to tie his hair behind his head. He was also wearing glasses – even though he didn't need them.

None of his eager and attentive listeners had caught on to his real identity so far.

He was definitely on the road to success and moving onward, fast. His compendium project remained stowed away in crates in his Gringotts vault along with his notes and sketches for several inventive new potions. But even though he was recognized for his work he felt dissatisfied with this new life of his.

He couldn't quite put his finger on – was it the travelling? He had done lots of it in the past, he had never been a domestic soul. He preferred to be productive and to satisfy his inquisitive nature. He had always enjoyed studying – having been a real bookworm from the time on his mother had taught him how to read and write.

He had missed that, while he had been teaching at Hogwarts. It had been a comfortable job, yes – but satisfactory? No, far from it.

So why was he feeling restless, when he was staying in a different country almost on a weekly basis? These lectures were challenging. He loved it. He loved to get into a debate with his listeners – notable, and even if not so, talented and sharp minded wizards and witches, who were not only admiring his work, but also challenging him to explain his findings and to prove his theories. He felt, he was stretching his wings like a young dragon, about to take flight for the first time.

"Mr. Evans? It is time."

He nodded toward the young wizard, who had put his head into the backroom to get him. He emptied his glass of water and straightened his shoulders. He felt good. Filled with energy, sure of himself. This was it – or was it?

Later that evening he sat on the sofa of the universities guest room. The lecture had been a great success. He had actually been confronted with a familiar – yet entirely unexpected – face: Rita Skeeter, reporter for the Daily Prophet. He had not managed to wiggle out of arranging an interview for tomorrow afternoon.

Through the open window a warm breeze of summer air billowed the curtains. Along with it a beetle hummed into the room. Severus caught it lazily in a stunning spell and directed it outside again with a wave of his wand.

He stood up and walked over to look out of the window. The low mountain range was littered with Muggle dwellings. The German Ministry of Magic did have a hard time to hide the University – and it was only accessible by apparition and floopowder.

Another beetle was humming towards him and Severus closed the window just in time to make it bounce of the glass and disappear into the night.

He decided to take his mind of things. But go for a walk on University grounds? He hardly had a chance to take three steps without being stopped. He remembered the pub he had been staying in almost six years before and decided to floopowder across the country for a quiet butterbeer in a deserted street of wizarding shops.

About half an hour later he stepped out of the fireplace inside the "Laughing Klabauterman". He instantly realized his babelcharm was wearing off and renewed it with a quietly muttered _"unalingua"_ and a wand tip at his head.

The pub was far from empty. He settled at a small table at a window, that allowed him to gaze outside at the narrow pathway and the canal in between. He ordered a soup and a butterbeer and watched a seagull cleaning its plumage outside the window. On the other side of the canal a shop sign was swinging slightly. It displayed a unicorns head and he remembered it to be the local apothecary. He had stopped there six years ago. His thoughts wandered briefly to another apothecary on the other side of the globe, but Severus pushed the thought away. He didn't want to think of that. Her. He took a gulp of butterbeer and started his soup. He was halfway through with it when he heard someone mention his name. Without looking up he took off his fake glasses and opened his hair to let it fall into his face like old times.

He checked his reflection in the dark window and decided, it had to be good enough. He looked up to see, who had spoken and quickly looked down again. Three women came toward the part of the pub he was sitting in and settled at a nearby table. He had seen them in the auditorium during the lecture and started to finish his soup without looking up. He saw an abandoned newspaper on a chair at the next table and made it zoom toward him slowly, so that he wouldn't attract attention and to be able to take it up and pretend to read, once he was done with the soup. The babelcharm didn't cover written language, unfortunately.

"So, what do you think of Evans, Hester?"

Severus peered over at them. The woman who had spoken was clearly the oldest of the group. He guessed her to be in her eighties – at least. Her hair was white and she was wearing bright green robes. The woman she had addressed was younger, even though her hair, too, was grey. She had apparently tried to put it into a bun, but not succeeded. Severus saw a hair pin fall from it the moment, she turned to look at the first woman.

"Oh, I don't know, Kriemhild… You know how I think about all these supposed new spellworks…"

The third woman snorted quietly. "Oh come on, Hester. You can't seriously be calling Aboriginal spell work _new_." She was the youngest of the three. Her black hair was tied in a bun as tight as Minerva McGonagalls. She was tall and thin and had something familiar about her.

"I agree with Drusilla, Hester. Their magic is probably much, much older than ours. I think you should really look into Evans work. It might be something you could do with the older students."

Drusilla… it did ring a bell…

"You want me to add Aboriginal spell work to our curriculum? Now, really, Kriemhild…"

"Oh, but why not? Not as an essential of course – it's much too complicated. But as an extracurricular? It would definitely earn us points with the Ministries ranking list."

"Well that settles that, than, doesn't it?" The woman snapped and bent to the side, pointing her wand under her chair, collecting several lost hair pins. Apparently something she was used to doing.

While she bent to the side Severus got a clear view of the third woman, Drusilla – and knew in an instant who she was. It surprised him, that he hadn't figured it out right away. On front of her dark robes she wore a silver brooch in form a coiled up serpent. He had seen that brooch more than once – decades back in the Slytherin common room. Drusilla Dinkelsack had been in his year. They had never been close, though, he had always considered her a bit bossy. An insufferable know-it-all and always organizing something or reminding others about school rules. Had it not been for that, he might have come to like her, actually. They had rivalled for top grades in Defence Against the Dark Arts and he remembered being paired with her at the Duelling Club once… she hadn't been an easy nut to crack. And that was saying something.

He took up the newspaper and kept watching her over the rim of it.

"What do you think then, Drusilla?" The older woman addressed her, now.

"I think he must have spent a lot of time researching. Very thoroughly structured lecture – and the magical theory behind it seems watertight to me."

"Yes, I thought so, too."

"Something is irritating me about him, though", she took a spoonful of her dish – something that looked far too pinkish for Severus taste.

"You find him irritating? Why?"

"I don't know… He reminds me of someone. But it must be ages ago."

"He's British. Probably someone you met at Hogwarts?"

"Yes, thank you, Hester. That was exactly the thought that was escaping me, you know?" Her voice was dripping with sarcasm and Severus couldn't help, but smile. Oh yes, he did remember that particular tone of voice quite well.

"So, what do you think?" The first woman looked at both of her colleagues. "Stay here for the night or fly on to Rungholt?"

"Fly on to Rungholt? Tonight?" The second oldest woman looked at her aghast.

"It's not that far. We can follow the river and be in time for breakfast. It's a warm summer night, hardly any wind… It'll be a nice flight and we're not crossing the North Sea. We'll be in sight of the coastline all the time."

Tough old lady she seemed to be – Snape had to give her credit for it. He watched Drusilla who kept a neutral expression and took a sip from her butterbeer.

"I know, Kriemhild, but it's quite late." Hester was clearly uncomfortable with the thought. "We've had a busy day… Not every one of us is an ex-Quidditch player, you know?"

Drusilla put down her glass, carefully. "You do have a point there, Hester – but on the other hand we'll be flying in the heat of day if we wait till morning. We'll have to fly much higher to avoid the muggles. I think I'm with Kriemhild on this. Let's finish our meal and get flying."

"Well… alright then." Hester collected a few hair pins again. Severus could tell, she wasn't happy about spending the rest of the night on a broomstick.

A short while later they were about to leave. Neither had they discussed his lecture any further nor had Drusilla dwelled on his person. Until she took out her money bag. She opened it and then let it sink down into her lap. "Snape!" She said. Severus swallowed dry and hit behind the newspaper. "Severus Snape. That's him."

"That's the boy Evans reminds you off?" It could only be Kriemhild who was speaking, as Hester had left for the ladies room a few moments ago.

"Yes, I'm certain of it. He was in my house. The same dark eyes and pale skin."

"No beard, though, I suppose?" Kriemhild sounded amused.

"No beard, no. But something in the way Evans moved… and his voice. Snape hardly ever raised his voice. Could say pretty cruel things, though, with a voice as smooth as silk."

"You sound as if you liked him?"

Severus couldn't resist to peer over the rim of the newspaper again. She was still sitting and looking up at her colleague. Now she smiled. "I had quite a crush on him in our sixth year. He was really smart. Made up his own spells already and excelled in potions. Funny, I always thought the wizarding world would hear of him for sure. Someone so awfully talented…"

She put her purse away and got up.

"Seems he wasn't interested in you, though?" Kriemhild put on her travelling cloak.

"No. Had only eyes for that red headed Gryffindor girl. No idea what he was thinking – I can't remember she ever really looked at him. Not at that point, any more, though." She, too, fastened her cloak around her neck and looked around for the third woman.

"Not anymore?"

"They used to hang out a lot at first, but later on I don't remember seeing them together anymore."

"Well, that's how it usually goes, isn't it? Children grow out of some friendships and into other ones. Here's your broom."

"Thank you. Well – at least I know who that Evans fellow reminds me of", she said musing and passed a broomstick on to Hester, who arrived back at the table with her travelling cloak already tucked around her, and a rather grim expression on her face.

Severus watched the three women leave the pub and mounting their brooms right outside it. They took off without looking back. Severus paid, too and used the fire place to get back to Blocksberg University.

Drusilla Dinkelsack had had a crush on him and he had never had the slightest idea. Who would have thought that?

The University grounds were deserted by now, as it was nearly midnight. He decided to take a short walk around before going back to his room. By tomorrow morning he would be packing. After lunch he was to meet Mrs. Skeeter and do the interview. He wasn't exactly nervous about it – but after being nearly recognized by someone he hadn't seen for twenty-five years, he was aware this interview was a risk. Should he just leave a note for Skeeter and leave early?

He would be travelling north, his next stop being the Scandinavian Institute for the Magically Gifted.

A large map caught his eye. It was covering a wall and displayed the country. It wasn't just a map – it was a relief which displayed landforms. Roughly in the middle – on top of a middle sized mountain - he found a miniature version of the Blocksberg University. Several other tinier houses or castles were to be found in other reasonably rural arias. There was one right up in the Alpes, which read "Chamoiscleft Wizard's School of Magic". Severus eyes darted toward the North Sea coastline. And sure enough he found one there. "Rungholt Academy for Magical Arts". He smiled and walked on. So Drusilla had become a teacher. He wondered, what she was teaching. Potions? Hester had to be the Charms teacher, if she was asked to do Aboriginal spell work. He still couldn't quite grasp that Drusilla had had a crush on him.

He arrived at his room and took off his travelling cloak. He went to close the curtains. There was one of those beetles again, scuttling up the glass. He had planned on opening the window for fresh air – but with beetles swarming his room that was probably not a good idea. He pulled the curtains close and changed into his night robes.

Then he lay awake in bed and stared at the ceiling. He imagined three witches on broomsticks, flying deep over the water towards an island. A swinging shop sign with a unicorn head appeared in front of his inner eye and changed into another, more familiar one.

His thoughts were finally back in New Zealand and no matter how hard he tried, he didn't seem to have control over them. The harder he tried to imagine what Drusilla had looked like at Hogwarts, the more he was thinking of a certain slightly stout woman with blindfolded eyes.

He sighed and got up. He went to open the window and as soon as he did, a beetle was crawling slowly onto the windowsill. He snipped it away angrily and cast a shield charm over the entire window.

He started pacing the room. He was tired and wanted to sleep. A low buzz at the window told him that one of those cursed beetles had flown into his charm. He wondered how many of them would be lying dazed below his window by morning.

Technically he knew why he couldn't find sleep. He had put this off for months now – against his own set of rules. He knew he had to do it anyway – so he took the black writing book out of the bag he was carrying with him at all times and sat down at the table.

He opened it and dipped the quill into the inkpot.

_July 7 – 2004_

_I left New Zealand a little more than six months ago. I wonder if I made the right decision. I could have done all this travelling and all these lectures without moving out of the place where I found the time and support to write my book._

_I most certainly wronged Praxedis, by leaving without saying goodbye and in haste… _

He stopped writing and thought back to that day at the end of November. He had had tea with Praxedis on the veranda behind her shop. It had been a rather warm evening, uncharacteristically dry for the season.

_She had made short bread and we had been discussing possible uses of potions ingredients. When I had finally brought up what I had been wondering about for years: How she managed brewing complicated potions without being able to check the colour. Or density. I simply couldn't imagine doing it blindly. _

"_Oh, but you must know, Perseus, that potions is all about being focused." _

"_That's right – I do know that."_

"_I used to have a potions teacher, who kept saying that. Not old Slughorn – he retired shortly after you left. We got someone new, when I was in sixth year. Pretty young, to be teaching – but exceptionally good. I remember he was pretty frustrated with the class, though. From the next year on he accepted only students who had managed an 'outstanding' in their potions OWL."_

_I didn't know what to say. It felt as if a giant hand was squeezing my chest. I had a feeling this conversation wouldn't end well._

"_Actually, you've reminded me of him from the very first day. He had the same soft voice, you know? And a similar 'outstanding' nose, too." She smiled and turned her face into my direction._

_I had the feeling I was shrinking in my chair. I was relieved she couldn't see me and I tried to think of something witty and unsuspicious to say, that would distract her from this particular train of thought. But the remark about my nose had reminded me of the day, when she had asked me, whether I would allow her to touch my face, because she wanted to get an idea of what I looked like. "My hands are my eyes now, you know?" She had said and smiled in a sad and resigned way, so I had allowed it. It had been far from unpleasant and now my mouth felt as dry as it had then._

"_Perseus?"_

"_I'm still here."_

"_Well?"_

"_So?" – I was playing for time and I knew that she knew._

"_There's another weird coincidence, you know?"_

"_I think I should be leaving, it's quite late already." I got up. She didn't._

"_Did you know that 'Perseus Evans' is an anagram to…"_

"_Have a nice evening." I left the veranda and walked through the kitchen and the hall towards the front door._

"_Severus Snape!"_

_I stopped in front of the door, my hand on the handle. I looked back. She had gotten up and was standing in the doorway that let outside the kitchen._

_I looked at her silhouette for a moment, then opened the door and left without another word._

_I started packing in haste, almost frenzy._

_I left the next day. I had ordered the crates holding my belongings to be taken to Gringotts. I travelled light again. And so I have, for the past six and a half months. On and on from country to country._

_I should have said good bye. She would have deserved better. _

Severus stopped and stared at the words in front of him. It was not just that. He knew there was something very important which he had been ignoring deliberately. He took up the quill and wrote down, what he felt.

_I miss her._

There it was. Three tiny words. He put down the quill carefully, leaned against the back and closed his eyes. He allowed the memories to come to him. He felt such a fool. He had found a friend, someone, who shared his interest in potions, someone, who was talented and sharp enough to debate his work with – and what did he do? Ruin it all, because he'd gotten cold feet on being recognized.

He considered sending Praxedis an owl. But what should he write? What could he write? After more than six months and considering the way he had left? He had hurt her feelings, undoubtedly. Could he brush all of that away by saying something along the lines of "Sorry I lost my head, I wish you were here with me now"? No, that clearly wouldn't do. He would have preferred to talk to her in person – but would she want to talk to him anymore? Besides – he could imagine very well what would happen if he showed up in the village again. He wouldn't get a chance to take three steps toward the apothecary without being swarmed by excited villagers.

No – he would have to write. But that letter needed some careful thinking, he wasn't up to that at this time of night. He tapped the pages blank and put the book away.

Another quiet buzz at the window – another beetle somewhere on the ground below. Severus sighed and closed the window. He wondered briefly how the Germans put up with this beetle plague.

He went to bed and fell asleep almost instantly.

His dream started with Drusilla Dinkelsack telling him off for something and then telling him to save his breath, when he tried to defend himself. She changed into Praxedis, who was raging like a harpy because he had criticized the short bread she had made. When he dared her to take off the blindfold to look at the lousy short bread herself she was suddenly Lily, who was shaking her head at him, sadly. She turned and walked away into a wood. He ran after her, but despite the fact that he was running as fast as he could and she seemed to walk rather slowly the distance was growing greater and greater, until he started shouting her name. She didn't turn around and he had to stop, because he couldn't breathe.

A giant hand was closing around his chest, taking away his breath, sinking deeper and deeper until it re-emerged, holding his heart. It looked battered and somewhat deformed. There were cuts all over it, crusted with old pus – none of them looked like a wound that had been given a chance to heal. While he was staring at his own heart it started to rain. He felt suddenly entirely hopeless and lonely, so he started to cry. His sobs became coughs when the hand tried to put his heart back into his chest. He tried to stop it, yelling "I don't want it back, keep it away from me" when the sky burst suddenly open. The storm clouds were gone in an instant and warm sunlight shone on his face. He looked at his heart. The giant hand was gone – instead it was held with both hands, by a woman, whose face he couldn't see. He sat down and decided to stop fighting. He felt incredibly tired and that feeling remained with him, when he woke up.

He had not closed the curtains, when he had closed the window and the early morning sun was shining into the room – and his face. He checked his watch, it was half past five.

He turned toward the wall and closed his eyes, hoping to fall asleep again. But instead of beetles flying against his window there were now birds making a racket outside. Severus sighed and got up. He had barely slept three hours. He yawned, then got washed and dressed. He considered writing to Praxedis – but decided against it.

Instead he took the writing book again and added a few sentences to last night's entry.

_I have come to three conclusions._

_First: I will cut down on doing lectures. Travelling is alright, but I'm not on the run. I'll keep doing them – at my leisure._

_Second: I will find a place where I can finish the compendium and start working on the potions project._

_Third: I will write to Praxedis and explain myself._

He tapped the page again and started packing. He dropped a note for Rita Skeeter, cancelling the interview as politely as possible, promising her another chance as soon as he was staying in Britain again.

He mounted his broom after a quiet breakfast at the Klabauter place. He took off, flying due north, heading toward Norway, to what would be his second last lecture for a few months.

He felt much better than the day before.

:(o)-(o): :(o)-(o):


	4. The Light Ahead

Author's Note: I'm sorry for not updating any sooner – but I got stuck.

Good news: I know how to go on, now and I'll have a week off work soon.

This is just a very short in-between part, that doesn't fit with the next chapter.

In case you would like to read more about the Rungholt Academy of Magical Arts, let me know. There would be a lot to tell – but it doesn't really belong into this story. I wouldn't mind posting a sort of "Snapes detour", though. ;)

-##-

_In the velvet darkness of the blackest night  
Burning bright, there's a guiding star  
No matter what or who you are._

_There's a light over at the Frankenstein Place_  
_There's a light burning in the fireplace_  
_There's a light, light in the darkness of everybody's life._

(Rocky Horror Picture Show)

##-##

Severus Snape leaned forward on his broomstick and gained speed instantly. He had come from Tallinn, Estonia and crossed the Baltic Sea, flown over the South of Sweden and Copenhagen. He had just checked his direction and corrected the course. He planned on staying in sight of the islands along the North Sea Coastline until he reached Amsterdam. Then he would cross the English Channel and be above Norwich. That's where he was going to get off his broom and apparate to Cokeworth. He could hardly wait for it. Not necessarily to get home to Spinner's End – he had never cared for that house much – but he was sick of spending so much time on a broomstick.

He had been flying above the clouds and watched the sun go down. Now the full moons silvery light fell on the clouds and more and more often on the landscape below. Severus descended until he was flying just below the clouds. It had stopped raining. He could see the North Sea ahead. He was thinking of a warm meal – maybe he would stop in Amsterdam to get something – when his stomach gave a growl and Severus felt slightly nauseas. He considered his last meal, but couldn't find anything wrong with it. He was probably just hungry. He might not make it till Amsterdam before he needed to have a break. Below him he saw rolling hills. It had to be either the South of Denmark or Northern Germany already. All he had to do was to fly steady on, toward the mass of water, that was glittering ahead of him in the moonlight. He felt suddenly very cold, despite the warm travelling cloak, he was wearing – even though it was late August. But he was experienced enough to know, that travelling by broomstick was rarely a comfortable business – not even in summer.

His insides were roaring with growing pain. He had to admit to himself, that he was not well. Cold sweat appeared on his forehead. Could he risk to keep flying? Maybe it was wiser to find a place to stay? He looked around the landscape below him. There was a large Muggle motorway – but otherwise it seemed to be a rural area. Should he just get down and try to find someplace? Muggle dwelling or not? He hesitated to do so, he thoroughly disliked the idea of depending on some muggle while ill.

He started to feel slightly dizzy now. Hot flashes were interrupting his shivering. He descended further down, looking for a good place to get off the broom. Then he saw it. Right ahead of him had to be a lighthouse in the distance. The coast was very near, now. But what had attracted his attention had been the fact, that it showed magical fire. He accelerated again, leaning as much forward as he dared, eyes fixed on the magical light.

He ignored his sweaty hands and face, the wild complaints of his insides and the dancing spots in front of his eyes.

He could see two islands ahead. Right between them the blinking light returned in steady intervals. He noticed, that the tide was low, there was no water at all between the two islands. The light got nearer and nearer. Nearly there, now. He passed between the two islands and saw another one right ahead. He descended as much as he dared, flying deep above the wet sea ground, forcing himself on. He closed his eyes only for a moment and caught a glimpse of passing light, as he opened them again, then everything went dark. He was unconscious before his body hit the ground.

=((o))=

When he opened his eyes, he was looking at a white ceiling. He was tired and drowsy, but couldn't go back to sleep because his whole body was itching. When he tried to move, every muscle seemed to hurt, so he decided to endure the itching.

The room was quiet. It had the atmosphere of a hospital wing. He turned his head left and right – despite the fact, that a massive wave of pain went through his head with every move and found – to his relief – his wand lying right beside him on the bedside table. He was among wizards and witches, then. He wouldn't have expected muggles to recognize a wand for what it was – and even if they did – not to have the sense to put it within reach of its owner.

He fell asleep again. When he awoke it was darker. Candles had been lit and a woman in a healers dress was at his bedside. She smiled and said something in a comforting sort of way, he didn't understand. When he reached for his wand to apply a babelcharm she started to tell him off quite sternly. He guessed she thought him too weak to do magic. So he simply took the medicine and went back to sleep.

He felt much better the next time, he opened his eyes.

He noticed, he was somewhere else, though. The room was much smaller. At a low window there was a small table and a chair – on which he could see his robes lying neatly folded. He sat up to look around. His cloak hung from a hook at the door. His wand was at his bedside locker again.

He was wearing a nightgown, that was not his own – and very colourful knitted socks, as he found out when he tried to get out of bed. A decision he regretted right away and only grabbed his wand before he sank back into his pillow. He quickly applied the babelcharm and put the wand back beside his bed.

=((o))=

Four days later he was up and about again. He was sitting in the garden of the small house he was staying in. Instead of a garden fence it had a low rampart made of boulders. There were two apple trees, almost ready to be picked and red currant bushes.

He was sitting at a white, wooden garden table, on a matching bench in front of the house. He could look out over the sea – had it been there. For the tide was low again and there was nothing but mudflat.

The house belonged to a woman who had been his source of information over the past few days. He had in fact been flying toward the magical fire coming from the lighthouse on Rungholt Island. He was now on a tiny slip of land, that was not quite attached to Rungholt but was considered a neighbouring holm. Both were wizard-only dwellings. The enchanted fire coming from the lighthouse kept both islands out of muggle sight and had done so for nearly 650 years. The muggles thought it had perished in several great storm tides – and apparently not caught on to this day.

He had crash-landed almost on school grounds. Fortunately His accident had been witnessed by two teachers, who had just been about to take a little flight around the mudflat at night. He had been taken to the schools hospital wing, where the healer had diagnosed him with a severe case of scritchimples. He had been transferred to the neighbouring holm when term had started a week ago.

The house owner owed her guest to the fact, that her sister was one of the teachers to come to his rescue. Mechthid Mistelfeld was a stout woman with brown hair and blue-green eyes, who seemed to be in a good mood at all times. She was almost always whistling some tune, which she apparently made up as she went along. She was raising her niece, daughter to her sister on Rungholt, who was teaching potions.

The girl was about seven, skinny, freckled, fiery red hair and bright green eyes. She would have reminded him of Lily, if she hadn't been so jumpy. She was here and gone and back again. It was unnerving. One moment she was hiding under the current bushes – next she was jumping over the rampart, running down the street. Only to come back flying in on her broomstick and jumping off to run into the house – carrying sand in with her bare feet (he'd never seen her wearing shoes), to show up dangling from a low branch of an apple tree, next. If he hadn't known better, he would have guessed she was apparating. She did seem to be a very talented young witch, as he had seen her several times fall out of one of the trees and bouncing off the ground – or otherwise getting saved by her own magic. Her aunt was regularly telling her not to push it – but earned only giggles.

He tried to concentrate on the letter he was writing. He had put it off until now and knew it had to happen soon, otherwise writing would become ridiculous.

He had succeeded no further than addressing Praxedis, when Mechthild Mistelfeld came out of the house, carrying a tray with some cake and a pot of tea. It was a strong brew, he rather liked, which came along with large chunks of rock sugar and a small can of cream. Which was put into the cup first – something Severus full heartedly approved of. He appreciated the regular teatime very much – even though three o'clock always seemed rather early. He would have preferred some sandwiches to the sweet cake, too. But well – one had to adapt to the natives.

Mechthild had just sat down next to him and handed him a small plate with red currant cake, when the girl came running back, shouting "they're coming" at the top of her lungs.

Severus looked at his host enquiringly.

"Who is coming?"

She smiled. "The students. Every Saturday the older students are allowed to come over. Well – if the tide permits, of course. It's not really every Saturday."

He watched the girl jump onto her broomstick and kicking off, toward the dark dots, that were slowly approaching.

"Sounds like a Hogsmeade weekend."

"Yes, it is probably very much alike. Who knows – you might get a visitor."

He looked at her again, this time surprised. "Me? A visitor?"

"Well, yes. My sister, for example, might like to check on you. Or Professor Dinkelsack – she went to hear you're lecture at the university. She recognized you in the first place."

"Did she?" Severus took a sip from his teacup and watched the dots getting bigger with a little anxiety.

Later that day Severus was sitting at the rickety table of his guest room and trying to finish his letter to Praxedis. He had already checked with a villager, whether it would be possible to get an owl for such a long journey. It was hooting in its cage in the floor beside him, now.

He re-read it for the umpteenth time and decided finally, he couldn't do any better. He had an awkward feeling about it. Like it wouldn't do any good – but he had to try it.

After sending the owl off he considered going downstairs again, but he decided against it and leaned out of the open window instead for a moment.

Then he sat on his bed for a short moment and considered the events of the afternoon. He breathed in the fresh, salty air that came in through the window and listened to the sound of the seagulls.

More because he was bored and didn't know what to do with himself, than that he would have felt the need for it he took the black writing book out of his travelling bag and started to turn the blank pages.

Then he went back to the table resolutely and started writing.

_August, 18__th__ 2004_

_Today I have caught up with a bit of my past I was previously entirely unaware of. It started with Rungholt students visiting the village – very much like we visit Hogsmeade._

_Drusilla Dinkelsack was one of the teachers to supervise the students while crossing the mudflat. She dropped in to talk to me – about the lecture, as she claimed, first – though I knew well, it was a bit more than that._

_After a few moments of polite conversation on magical theory she asked directly what had made me change my name. I thought, I'd keep it brief and said:_

"_Everyone thinks I'm dead – I'd like to keep it that way."_

_She just nodded, curtly, and that was all._

_I hadn't expected that. As I wasn't expecting a nice conversation at all, when I heard that I might get a visitor. But it was. I had no idea. Maybe I should have paid her more attention back at Hogwarts. She was very interested, when I told her how I've been teaching potions for sixteen years. I think she was impressed, I was head of Slytherin house, though I can't be sure. She seems to be a reasonably good occlumens herself. _

_She has invited me to visit her school. I am a bit curious. Judging by the number of students who came to the village today it must be tiny._

Severus put down the quill and stood up. He paced the room briefly and then took off his shoes to lie down on the bed, arms crossed behind his head.

It was time to make a decision. He had planned to continue his journey home the day after tomorrow. He was reasonably well again. Apart from several dozen multi coloured pimples all over his body nothing reminded him of his illness.

The reason, why he had decided to stay for a few days (and a bit longer than necessary) had been, that he was rather comfortable. He liked the coast and he liked the tiny settlement. It was quiet and contemplative. He had to admit to himself, that he had also hoped to meet Drusilla again. Now they had met and he was finding reasons not to return home just yet by the dozen.

The Skeeter woman, for example. She was bound to show up and bother him about that interview. Then there was Spinner's End. He had never been fond of the house and only returned when he had to. And left as soon as possible. Another reason not to go home was the risk of being recognized for who he was. He would have to take Polyjuice Potion whenever he needed to shop in Diagon Alley.

Here – on the other hand – he was among wizards who didn't know him and who were treating him like the regular tourist (he doubted they were getting many, though). All in all he was much more inclined to stay, than he was to leave.

=((o))=


	5. On Top Of The World

Author's Note: Hope you like this as much as I do. :)

=((o))=

_You held me down, but I got up  
Already brushing off the dust  
You hear my voice, you hear that sound__**  
**__Like thunder gonna shake the ground_

_Roar - Katy Perry_

(o)

Severus Snape leaned back on the bench behind the little cottage which he could now call his own. He had found it shortly after he had decided to stay on Rungholt. It was one of the last houses at the end of the village and set at the end of a tiny sand pathway, which let between two slightly larger houses toward the beach. It had the same low door and window, which was typical for all houses around. The thatched roof had needed repair desperately – just like the rest of the cottage. Severus had gained a lot of expertise in renovating charms. The inside was about twice the size of his room at the inn in New Zealand. There was only one room with a fireplace. There were two windows in the back wall, which looked out over the beach and toward Rungholt Island. He could see the lighthouse and its magical fire when he stood by the window and gazed over. A steep ladder let to an attic room, which was just large enough to hold a bed.

Severus had liked it right away. He had been delighted to hear that it belonged to an elderly man who had inherited it decades ago and was happy to sell it to him.

He had been living on the island for little more than two years, now. It was a warm day in September – probably one of the last ones of the year – and Severus was enjoying his afternoon tea in the little garden behind his house.

Seagulls were flying over the mudflat and he could see one of the Rungholt Quidditch teams practicing in the distance.

These two years had been very successful. He had finished the 'Compedium of Magical Animals and Plants of the Tropical Forest' and successfully published it. Well over a year ago he had started working on his potions project. It had turned out to be his favourite. Admittedly he had no results on anything particular so far – he was running tests on all the herbs and substances he was not familiar with. It was meticulous work – just the way he liked it. It would keep him occupied for years, which suited him very well. With two published works he was a renowned author and had enough galleons in his Gringott's vault to be able to indulge in his potions passion. Sometimes he thought it should have been the thing to do right away.

His passion for the Dark Arts remained. He had discussed it with Drusilla a lot and found – to his delight – that she shared it. He had – quietly – taken an example by the way she was drawing a firm line with "the many headed monster". It was interesting, that the Rungholt Academy didn't teach Defence Against the Dark Arts – at least not officially, it was just the Dark Arts – like it was at Durmstrang – but in effect taught students far more about the dangers and challenges of it as Hogwarts did.

Had he attended Rungholt instead of Hogwarts, he would not have been able to access his favourite books in the restricted section with a simple permission form from Professor Slughorn – who had thought he was researching potions.

The Dark Arts section at Rungholt was safely hidden – and protected. It was not only laborious to get in, but also highly uncomfortable. A student had to be very determined to study the Dark Arts. And would only be allowed under the supervision of a teacher – usually Drusilla – and required to write regular reports on studied books. Drusilla said, she knew exactly what each of her students was reading and working on at the moment – and along what lines they were thinking. It was her obligation to direct them along that said firm line. "Nulla scientia, sine sapientia", she had cited the Rungholt motto to him. Knowledge is nothing without wisdom. Gaining knowledge was fine. Understanding the mechanisms of the Dark Arts was excellent. But to withstand the pull of it, to keep a safe distance – that was a complicated challenge.

Severus had to admit, that he himself had failed at it. Drusilla had compared it to a fire once. A fine thing to get warm by and a fascinating thing to watch. But only from a safe distance. "Otherwise you'll get burned. And badly, so", Drusilla had said and Severus had only been able to nod with an understanding expression on his face because he knew it was exactly, what had happened to him. He had wondered, if she herself had been burned, too – but had never dared to ask.

He had paid several visits to the school. Drusilla had insisted on giving him the grand tour. He had attended afternoon tea in the schools so called dining hall. This was a friendly euphemism at best. The school was – like he had guessed – really tiny. They had approximately 10 students per year and a total of 65 – 70 students. There was no house system – wouldn't have made much sense with so few students – and it seemed that the ultimate thread to keep up discipline was to be sentenced to shell prawns without magic. Drusilla claimed it was highly effective.

There were no house elves, but Heinzelmen. Who apparently had their own labour union and went on strike on a regular basis – leaving the students with household duties.

Severus had taken all this in with an amused smile. They had visited the potions pavilion during a lesson with the first years and he had had the chance to witness Professor Mistelfeld teaching potions. It had been such a hubbub, he had initially assumed that there was no teacher present. Drusilla had laughed at his alarmed face and calmed him with the statement that this was her colleagues regular teaching method and all was under control.

Watching the Rungholt potions teacher in action – no exaggeration – explained a lot about her daughters' jumpiness, he had thought.

He had learned to appreciate Professor Mistelfelds expertise since then. She loved to experiment with potions herself and had more than once been a resourceful conversational partner.

She reminded him of Praxedis, whom he still missed. He had not received an answer to his letter. He could only assume that she was deeply hurt – and for good reason – and wanted nothing more to do with him.

It made him sad. He had tried to push it away, then had written it down in his diary. He had had to admit to himself, that he had still not gotten over it. He had messed that friendship up due to his own stupidity. And he would probably never get a chance to make up… It made him angry with himself.

Severus sighed and directed his empty teacup through the open window and into the kitchen sink with a lazy wave of his wand. Wind was coming up and made the spot much less comfortable all of a sudden. It was clearly not summer anymore.

He had spent the morning packing. He would be traveling to Britain for a few days. He had a few dealings with Gringotts, an appointment with Felicity Flourish about his books – he didn't really know what that would be about. He had decided to purchase a few rare ingredients at Diagon Ally, he knew the apothecary there had in stock.

He would also clear up Spinner's End a bit, while he was home and was looking forward to catching up with the news – just out of curiosity. He would be returning to his cottage to spend another long winter at the rough North Sea coast. Days filled with brewing potions and taking notes. Going out for a hot cup of tea at the local tea-house, which was famous for its every-flavour-teas. He would meet with Drusilla in the evenings to talk about old times at Hogwarts and the dark arts. And he would meet Mafalda at the weekends to discuss his potions.

He found he was already looking forward to it. Still it felt like Drusilla and Mafalda were a substitute for something else. Someone else.

Severus sighed. He stood up and went inside. Tomorrow morning he would mount his broomstick and fly along the route he had planned to take over two years ago.

(o) (o) (o)

_September, 22__nd__ 2006_

_I'm back home. I had planned on staying at Spinner's End – but the place is nearly uninhabitable. I fear, it has been neglected far too long. I had to get rid of no less than three boggarts and decided not to stay for the night, because the bedroom curtains were full of doxys. So I'm staying at the Leaky Cauldron. The appointment with the Gringotts goblin was not as brief as expected. They wanted to clear on several security details that seem to come along with the larger vaults. I have also informed them of my new name. They won't give me away, though, I am certain of it. Goblins take their security issues immensely serious._

_I was nearly late for the appointment at Flourish & Blotts. If I was unsure about the purpose of the meeting, I must say that I remain mystified. Miss Flourish – junior director to her father now, as it looks – held the meeting and despite the fact, that she brought up several issues (all of which could have been easily cleared by owl) I don't know, what that was all about. She concluded with asking me to sign both of my books and expressing her admiration for my work. She kept looking into my eyes quite intensely and played with her necklace all the time – it was a bit disturbing._

_I have put off cleaning out Spinner's End. It doesn't make sense, as I don't intent to stay anyway. I took along a number of books I need for reference and I might return later on to get some more, but that's it._

_First thing tomorrow morning I will pay a brief visit to old Jiggers and purchase the ingredients I need – then I'll fly back to Rungholt._

_September, 24th 2006_

_I'm back at my cottage. I arrived late yesterday evening after an incredibly eventful day._

_It all started with a big surprise. I arrived at Slug & Jiggers – only to find their sign gone. There had always been a lot of competition between them and Mr. Mulpepper. Apparently they had to give up. But there was a new owner. The new sign reminded me of the one Praxedis had in front of her shop. Apparently the new owners name was Pickle. So I went in. And there she was. Right behind the counter. I waited until I was the only customer left and when she asked, what she could do for me, I almost couldn't answer. I said the first thing, that came to my mind. "Maybe you could forgive me? Please?" I felt like a little schoolboy and I fear I sounded just like one, too._

_For a moment I thought her face went somewhat hard – but then it looked like before. _

"_Forgive you, Severus?"_

_I nodded quite foolishly – and then remembered, that she couldn't see. "I'm truly sorry I left in such a haste…"_

"_You mean, you fled." It was a statement, not a question._

"_Yes. You're right, I did. I shouldn't have. I panicked."_

"_Because I found out who you are? What is there to panic about?"_

_Two and a half years ago it had made me panic. By now I was much more at ease with her knowing who I was. I owe that circumstance to all those conversations with Drusilla._

"_I thought I was safe. It came so unexpected…" I didn't know, what to say._

"_But why did you change your name in the first place?" Her voice was calm. Not unfriendly. Not angry._

"_Everyone thinks I'm dead – and I would like to keep it that way." That answer had entirely sufficed for Drusilla. For Praxedis it was not good enough._

"_You are evading my question, Severus." She did sound a bit strict. I felt, that it was important, to say the right thing now. Maybe not all was lost. So I dared to put as much truth as possible into a few short sentences._

"_I have done bad things in the past. Things I'm not proud of. I have done all within my power to make up for it – and I died. I was dead - at least for a moment. That is a complicated story, which will take more time to tell. But when I came back, I decided to leave the past behind and to start anew. I changed my name to get rid of the ghosts of the past. I would *really* like to keep it that way."_

"_I see," she said – not unkindly – and nodded slowly. "It would have been nice, you could have explained that a bit earlier, you know?"_

"_I know. I know I shouldn't have left in the first place and I suppose my letter didn't explain much either."_

"_Your letter?" She sounded genuinely surprized. "I didn't get a letter."_

_I stared at her for a moment. "I wrote to you about two years ago. You never replied. I thought…"_

_She bit her lower lip and looked very sorry. "I never got that letter. It must have missed me, because I was travelling."_

"_Why would it…"_

"_Travelling is difficult for me. I can't fly on a broomstick. Apparition is tricky – I only dare when I know the place really well. And the floo-network doesn't go as far as New Zealand."_

"_So how did you travel?"_

"_Like a muggle," she said, with a grim expression on her face. "My sister-in-law was pregnant with twins and asked if I could come and help. So I decided to go home – there was not much that held me on the other side of the globe."_

"_Oh – the climate is definitely a lot friendlier!"_

_We both laughed. I felt relieved. "So – will you forgive me?"_

_She didn't say anything for a moment. "Forgive you? On one condition!"_

"_Well?"_

"_You hug me. And you'd better hug me tight, if you want to make up for leaving like that."_

_I had to swallow. I would have preferred a handshake. I had never thought of our relationship as one that included hugs. But then I stepped up to her and did it._

_It felt good._

_She told me, she had missed me greatly and I admitted that I had felt the same way._

_She closed the shop – it was almost time for lunch anyway – and we went up to the little flat above the shop, where she lives, and talked._

_Pickle is her maiden name. She owns the apothecary along with her brother, Pamphilos Pickle (the one with the twins)._

_I have invited her to Rungholt – she has agreed to come, if she can manage the journey._

_I left much later than expected._

Severus put the quill down and sighed. It was good to be back and having made up with Praxedis had done a lot to make him even more comfortable. They had agreed to write. He would put his voice in the letter much like a howler. Only less noisy.

He put the black writing book away and poured himself another cup of tea. He went over to sit in the armchair by the window and looked over at the lighthouse on Rungholt. The small sailing boats, the students were allowed to ride, were drifting away from the island slowly. Severus watched them go by and smiled. He was as comfortable as he could possibly be – and he didn't remember ever having been as happy and content as he was right now. His thoughts drifted to his potions experiment, while he sipped his tea. Everything seemed to go right in his life for a change.

(o) (o) (o)

Weeks later Severus sat in his room and shared a cup of tea with Drusilla. She had brought some cake from the schools tea time along and was now sitting in the second armchair beside the fireplace. It was cosy and warm, the cold autumn wind blowing outside.

"Ah – before I forget." Drusilla reached down into her bag and pulled out a book. "I thought this would be nice to look at." She handed him the book.

"Our Hogwarts yearbook." He opened the cover with the Hogwarts crest. "Last year." He looked at Drusilla who was smiling. "I hadn't touched it ever since I put it away when I came home after our last year. I was looking for something else, while I was home during the holidays – and there it was. Go on!" She made an inviting movement with her hand. "Have a look at the pictures. You were really a cutie, you know?"

Severus threw her a sceptical look. "A _what_?"

"Oh, you know, what I mean. I thought you were."

Severus turned the pages with pictures of students, starting with year one – four pictures on every double-page, one for each house. Finally he reached the one with the N.E.W.T. graduates.

There he was – in the back row, right next to Professor Slughorn. And on his other side: Drusilla. Her black hair in two thick plaits.

"You are standing right beside me" he said with some astonishment. "I don't remember that at all.

"I'm not surprised. You never paid any attention to me. It was not a coincidence, though, you know?"

"You made sure you would be standing next to me on our house picture?" Severus couldn't believe it.

Drusilla nodded with a dry smile. "Oh yes, I did. You broke my heart without even noticing."

Severus swallowed – he didn't know what to reply to that revelation. Then he saw Drusilla grin. Sly old snake she was.

"But I got over it, Perseus. Ages ago."

"Did you." He still didn't know what to think of it. He had to admit that he clearly wasn't used to that amount of female attention.

"As a matter of fact: Yes I did. I fell madly in love about a year later. I was travelling, I think I have mentioned that, didn't I?"

Severus nodded, while turning another page. "Yes, you did the world tour. Bit old style – but on the other hand: Maybe I should have done the same."

"Certainly you should have. Travelling is extremely enlightening. But anyway… There was this extremely good looking man in Canada… I was tempted to marry him…" her voice had drifted away – rather uncharacteristically – and when Severus looked up, she was gazing out of the window, apparently lost in thought.

"But you didn't."

"No, obviously not." She was all back in the room and sounded a wee bit snappish. "And I have never regretted that decision."

"And never met anyone else who tempted you into marriage?"

Drusilla shook her head. "No, never. I value my freedom. There are still corners in the world I haven't seen – others, that I do want to see again… And I grew up travelling; I know it's not the right thing for children to be always on the move."

Severus nodded. She had told him a bit about her childhood. Her father had been a restless soul and had dragged her with him. Her mother had died early. By the age of eleven she had seen more places than most adult wizards and witches. Then her father had send her to Hogwarts. Mostly, because she had begged him to do so. But apparently she had never really put her roots down.

"So, what happened with the good looking Canadian?"

Drusilla didn't answer right away, but looked at him intently for a moment. Then she said: "Severus Snape," it was strange to hear her say his real name, she usually stuck strictly to Perseus, as he had asked her to, "I will tell you about my romantic affairs if I hear about yours."

"That's easy," he said and smiled, "there are none."

"And your New Zealand acquaintance? The one who was ready to forgive you after two and a half years, just like that?"

"Oh, but Praxedis is not a romantic affair!" He had turned another page and looked up now, only to find Drusilla smiling at him knowingly – and with that superior note, he remembered quite well.

"Isn't she?"

He shook his head, slowly. "No, she is just a friend."

Now it was her turn to shake her head. "Look, Perseus. You don't know anything more about women than you knew in sixth year, do you?"

"Apparently not. What are you talking about?"

"Even from the few things you have told me I can deduce one thing, which is absolutely certain: You have chances with that woman. Don't ignore it, Severus!"

"However you figure that out… I promise I will try to be attentive and keep my eyes open. Is that good enough for you?"

Drusilla leaned back in her armchair and nodded. "It's a start." She gestured toward the year book. "Why don't you look her up? I would like to see her."

Severus turned to the pages with the third years. He scanned the Hufflepuff picture. And there she was. Praxedis Pickle. She was sitting in the first row. A very pretty girl with brown hair and dark eyes. Beautiful dark eyes. He swallowed. Suddenly he remembered her so clearly, as she had been, when he had started teaching at Hogwarts. She had been in his first NEWT class. One of the few talented students. He remembered the way she would put her hair back and quickly turn it into a plaid at the beginning of each lesson. He remembered how focused she had been, when she was cutting ingredients. Remembered her face, full of concentration, while stirring her potion.

"Severus?" Drusilla looked a little anxious. "Are you all right?"

He nodded and handed her the book. "First row, Praxedis Pickle."

Drusilla took the book. "Nice. Does she look a lot like this, still?"

Severus shook his head. "Her hair is turning grey. And she lost her eyes, didn't I tell you?"

Drusilla looked at him surprised. "No. you didn't. How…"

"Her husband's cauldron exploded. Blew up half the house. She was lucky to survive."

"That's tough. Must be difficult for her to get along."

"No, I don't think so." Severus thought of the Praxedis he knew. Always friendly, always positive. Doing potions blindly and travelling around the globe like a muggle… "She manages quite well. She is… awesome." He added after a moment.

"Don't let her slip away, then. Awesome women are hard to find, you know?"

He looked at her, she was smiling at him. Then she looked down and turned a few pages. She stopped with a grown. "Oh no. These two. Bet you remember them!"

She handed him back the book. His eyes fell on a picture of two boys. Potter and Black. He groaned.

"Yes, I thought so, too!" Drusilla laughed. "Miss them like a hole in the head. Do you know, what happened to them?"

Severus nodded slowly. "Potter got killed by the dark Lord. I thought you would know about that. His son is Harry Potter."

"NO!" Drusilla looked at him incredulous "James Potter fathered the boy who lived? Come on!"

Severus mouth twirled into a wry smile. "Yes, he did. Black spent most of his life in Azkaban and was killed by his death eater cousin."

For a moment Drusilla said nothing. "You don't sound very sorry about it."

"I'm not at all sorry!" Severus said and couldn't keep a hard tone out of his voice. "They…" he started, but then didn't finish the sentence. "Like you said," he said instead and snapped the book shut, "I, too, miss them like a hole in the head!" He handed the book back to Drusilla, who put it away, slowly.

"I remember they picked on you a lot."

"Yes, they did."

"I don't know, if it's helpful at all… But I always thought you were clearly winning those duels – even when you lost them."

"How is that possible?" Severus hated, that his voice sounded so obviously hurt. He was angry – but not with Drusilla. He didn't want her to think that his anger was directed at her, but he also didn't know, how to keep it down. All of a sudden there were feelings welling up, he had never addressed.

Drusilla was looking at him carefully and replied very calmly. "It was usually four on one, wasn't it?"

He managed a twitch with his head to indicate he agreed.

"I've hardly ever met anyone who could put up with four opponents. Almost everyone I knew thought it was unfair and that you never had a chance. That you could have defeated Potter and Black easily – had they dared to challenge you one – on – one."

"Nice to know." His voice sounded resigned. It didn't change anything now.

"I'm sorry, I never stepped in. I know I should have. But there's a reason I wasn't sorted into Gryffindor: I'm just not brave."

"Never mind. It was ages ago."

"You clearly haven't left it behind you, Perseus."

It felt good, that she used his new name again. It put a distance between himself and the past. "I suppose, I haven't, no."

"Stop letting it get to you!"

Severus laughed out loud. A bitter laugh, that almost turned into a sob, as he realized to his own horror. "Just like that? After all these years? You think I can simply decide not to let it get to me?"

Now he was getting angry with Drusilla. He had a feeling he should tell her to leave, but didn't feel up to figuring out the right words in this situation.

She was still watching him, remaining very still in her armchair and speaking very slowly, calmly. "It is not quite as easy, as it sounds – I'll admit that. But it is not as hard to do as you think, either. Put a distance between yourself and them. And separate yourself from what they did."

"I beg your pardon?" Severus snarled, despite wanting to hear, what she had to say.

"They were pathetic. All four of them. Picking on you when they could be sure, they would get away. Aren't Gryffindors supposed to be brave? What's so brave about attacking someone as a group? And why did they need to find someone to pick upon in the first place? They were bullies of the worst kind. And that says something about their characters mostly – not about yours.

If it hadn't been you – it had been someone else. Maybe Avery, or Mulciber. Maybe me.

They were pathetic – but consider what happened!"

"What happened?" Severus thought of James Potter marrying Lily and his mouth went incredibly dry.

"Five years out of school. Two of them are dead. One is in Azkaban. The fourth is a werewolf – I bet he didn't get a job at the ministry?"

"You know about Lupin?" This revelation momentarily baffled him entirely.

"Oh, come on. He was sick every full moon over the cause of seven years. And always weak and delicate afterwards. What else could it be?"

"Did you ever tell anyone?"

Drusilla shook her head. "What for? Dumbledore apparently knew about it and had decided to let him stay." She shrugged. "The point is: YOU were teaching potions as head of Slytherin house, while they didn't have much of a life – or none at all anymore. Sounds like they got what they deserved, to me."

"Hm." Severus didn't know, what to say.

"Put it behind you, Sev. It was ages ago and they're all dead now. While YOU are alive. YOU have published two very well received books. YOU hold lectures all over the contintent. YOU get asked to sign books."

He looked at her – at a loss for words.

"You're awesome, Severus. Or Perseus – whatever you prefer right now. I knew you had a lot of potential when I was in sixth year. I was convinced the wizarding world would hear of you, when we left school. So it has been a while, but there you are. You're awesome…", she added in a lower voice and smiled at him. "Praxedis has figured it out, too, obviously. I think it's time you admitted we're right."

"I'd like to…" He couldn't say anything else. He just looked at her, astonished.

"I'll remind you of it on a regular basis, if you like," Drusilla said in her normal voice and pointed at the tea pot "Is there enough for two more cups?"

Severus nodded and watched Drusilla swish her wand to fill their cups. "If you don't want the cinnamon roll, I'll have it now, if you don't mind."

Severus shook his head and took his cup absent mindedly. He felt like his friend had turned the world upside down in the wink of an eye. He had to consider all she had said. He was extremely gratefull, that Drusilla had switched to normal conversation and was now pulling him into the deeper mysteries of the German Quidditch League.

(o)

Later that night, when he was lying in bed he let it all pass by again. He followed her reasoning step by step and found to his surprise, that he could.

The wind outside was slowly turning into an autumn storm. It would be pressing the waters of the next tide high against the coastline. Nobody on Rungholt needed to worry – the enchantment ensured their safety – but like the powers of nature outside were rising, he felt something rise within him.

He was above Potter and Black. He was above that private little schoolboy war. He was an adult. He was a notable wizard with an international career. While they were all dead.

With a start he sat up. He couldn't sleep. He climbed down the steep latter and paced his room in his nightgown. It was cold – but he hardly felt it.

He felt jubilant. Never had he felt like this. He felt like he was going to explode with delight. He grabbed his cloak and stepped into his shoes. He ran out of his house and to the beach behind his garden. High waves were rolling toward him. The lighthouse on Rungholt flashed in its regular turn like it always did.

Severus stood in the breakwater, not minding his wet feet, nor his cloak getting slowly soaked with saltwater. It was cold and dark, but his heart was beating stronger and faster than he had ever felt it. He couldn't hold his feelings back. A cry of joy filled his lungs and freed itself. The wind took it up quickly. He cheered again with all his might, until he fell onto his knees into the breaking water. He held out his arms wide and then shot a jet of gleaming stars into the night sky. No muggle would see them. And even if anyone did – they would think it was lightning.

Exhausted he walked back into the house and took off his wet clothing right behind the door. He went to bed and now he did fall asleep quickly, to sleep as soundly as a newborn child.

(o)

_You held me down, but I got up  
Get ready 'cause I've had enough  
I see it all, I see it now_

_I got the eye of the tiger, a fighter_  
_Dancing through the fire_  
_'Cause I am a champion_  
_And you're gonna hear me roar_

_**Louder, louder than a lion**_

_'Cause I am a champion  
And you're gonna hear me roar_

_Now I'm floatin' like a butterfly_  
_Stinging like a bee I earned my stripes_  
_I went from zero_  
_To my own hero_

_Roar - Katy Perry_

=((o))=

Author's note 2: So I found out why I got stuck - Severus didn't want to move back to Britain just yet. Silly me - of course he's much more comfortable in a palce were nobody knows him with two nice women to chat about potions and the dark arts.

I'm glad I got the Marauder thing tackled - and I really like the ending. Hope so do you. :)


End file.
